


That Damned Insolent Slut

by pecanroll69



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Dom Rick, Dom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), F/M, M/M, Other, Teacher Kink, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 10:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14054460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pecanroll69/pseuds/pecanroll69
Summary: rick sanchez is a pain in the ass english professor, so you decide to be a pain in the ass student





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written teacher rick before but i needed to. this is super self indulgent and will have more chapters but here's some buildup/context!

The first week of a semester is always a weird time. You wish it was just going over syllabi, but there's work to be done as usual while you get used to your professors. So far, everything had gone well; you still expected to start an argument with one of them within a week or so, but that's how it always is. Professors, despite their seniority in academia, aren't always right, you think, and many professors enjoy it when someone challenges them. You walk into an English class you'd particularly been looking forward to and sit down in the front right corner. You like being able to see, but being close to the door is nice as well. You notice the classroom is mostly full, but the professor still isn't here. Makes sense, sometimes they have to travel from building to building for their classes, much like students do. You get out your pen and notebook and wait. And wait. And wait.

As the minutes pass, you begin to think maybe you weren't supposed to have class today. Everyone is fidgeting, checking their e-mail to see if we all somehow missed a notification that class is cancelled. Your professor must have somehow known people were getting ready to just ditch the class, as he walked in right when the chatter picked up.  
He sets down his bag near the podium and stares down at the class. You can't tell because you're sitting down, but he seems abnormally tall. He has wild blue hair and glasses, and more than a few indicators of his age marking his face. He's wearing a collared shirt and a frustrated scowl. "I-I think you can— we're not gonna read the syllabus. You guys can read I'm sure." His voice is gruff and oddly charming, despite the crass words he delivered with it. He looks around the class, cataloging some faces, skipping over others. He makes eye contact with you and you swear you see the ghost of a smirk. Satisfied with his observations, he walks over to the table at the front of the classroom, his tall form hunched over as he slams both of his hands on the wooden surface.

"I know most of you think-- think a professor will take pity on you and give you an A if you plead enough. This is an upper level class and I-I-I'm not going, not gonna slow down for some entitled brats who have coasted through school their entire lives." He surveys the room again, probably looking for scared faces as indicators of who is going to drop the class within a week. After the prolonged pause he lifts himself back to his full height and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. It's a good look, and the way his long and bony fingers tap against his crossed arms makes you shiver.

"My name is Dr. Sanchez. Not 'Mr.' Not 'professor.' Dr. Sanchez. And d-don't— don't even bother sending me an e-mail if you're not going to address me with the respect I deserve."

He paces to the other side of the class, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "And for fucks sake, don't even come by for my office hours if you're just going to waste my time."

You involuntarily roll your eyes. Some power move bullshit. You never appreciated it when older adults mocked your intelligence just because you're younger than them. In spite of this, you begin taking notes on the lecture which the man before you quickly and unceremoniously delivers. Who knows, maybe he has something to teach you despite his foul attitude. You decide you'll at least give him a chance. It doesn't help that something about his condescending demeanor and his angular appearance somehow manage to arouse you, a feeling that you desperately try to repress. You listen to him wrap up the lecture, eager to leave the conflicting feelings he inspires in you behind.

"A-and make sure you all read for Wednesday. There will _most definitely_  be a quiz."

You put your notebook and pen back into your bag and get up from your desk to walk out. Dr. Sanchez grunts at you, beckoning you with a finger to stand in front of him.  _Fuck_. Were you already in some sort of trouble on the first day? He steps closer to you and— is that whiskey you smell? Oh my god. This guy had come to class drunk. You'd seen professors hungover, of course, but drunk in class? You were too focused on his smell — a delightful mix of coffee, whiskey, and old man cologne — to pay attention to what he was saying.

"A-are you seriously ignoring me?" He slams the nearest book down on the table and looks at you with a fiery intensity. You open your mouth to say something but he quickly shuts you off. "Listen kid. I-I've been, I started teaching a long time ago. I've dealt with insolent little fucking cunts like you. So no more eye rolling in my class, understand?" You're shocked and appalled. You'd never been so directly and harshly insulted by a professor before— in fact, despite your argumentative nature, professors seem to have nothing but praise for you.

"C'mon. I need a yes or a no. Answer me." He's looking down at you as if repulsed. "Yes sir," you say, submitting to his demands. You could admit when you had been rude, even though this man was clearly being even more of an ass. He raises half of his unibrow at your quick acquiescence. Realizing that you may have appeared too eager to please, you stare back into his eyes with equal intensity. "Don't think this means I'm going to agree with the things you say unquestioningly. I look forward to the class discussion Wednesday, but I don't appreciate being talked down to."

With that, you turn and head out the door, determined to have the last word. He chuckles as you walked away, enjoying the view of your hips swaying.

"I'm three times your age, honey. D-don't get all confident when you have no fucking idea what you're up against."

You could feel the smirk in his voice. If he was going to play this game, you would too. It's going to be a long semester, you thought as you begrudgingly replayed the sound of his demeaning voice and the way he moved like a confident predator ready to pounce at any second. You were going to need a long, hot shower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> still no full on smut but that's cause i'm a tease and so is dr. sanchez :-)

Day 2. You swear this classroom is an intellectual war zone. You sit down in the same seat from the first day and follow a similar routine. Notebook out. Book out. You occupy yourself by moving your pen around on your desk, trying to find a suitable place for it while you wait for your professor. Dr. Sanchez walks into the room at quarter past 3, late again.

He scans the room, lingering on your face for an extra moment in either a look of disgust or amusement. You'd be fine with either.

"Glad to see you're all back. All but one." He punctuates the sentence with a flicker of his eyes to an empty desk.

A devilish grin appears on his face. "W-w-we're not gonna talk about the book I assigned yesterday." The room proceeds to break out in frustrated noises and "what's?!" Dr. Sanchez's gleeful expression mutates into a much scarier one. You squirm slightly in your seat, intimidated and turned on at the same time.

"D-don't you— whose classroom is this?"

He pauses, the silence tense. "Mine. _Say it._ " Everyone sits still, silent and shocked. You are silent too, but mostly because you want to say " _Yours, Dr. Sanchez_ ," but in a much less appropriate setting. Fuck, why the hell are you attracted to this man. He waves his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Whatever. If you guys can't even fucking repeat shit, I-I don't know how you're gonna pass this class."

He shakes his head and mumbles something about "another semester of this shit," walking to where he haphazardly set all of his belongings down at the beginning of class. He pulls a monstrous book out of his bag. An anthology. _Shit_. It was required for the class, but you didn't lug around big books unless you knew you're going to need them, and this asshole pulled this on you last minute.

He looks expectantly at the class. "A-are you guys so stupid you can't even repeat what I'm doing? Get out the damn book!" A handful of students comply, those who over-prepare for everything. You are clearly not one of them. The rest of you sit silent, some taking out a different book and hoping Dr. Sanchez wouldn't notice.

He notices.

"You, in the back. You think that's the anthology I have right here? Th-the fuck is that? Is that a fucking— YA novel? _Jesus Christ_."

  
He starts talking about a poem without actually saying the name of the poem. You manage to figure out which poem he is talking about based on his description, and you're more than a little amused to see Dr. Sanchez pick something that seemed to be a fan favorite among your other professors. You'd think he would intentionally veer away from what's popular.

"Can any of you guess— rather, understand the author's reason for writing this? Probably not, y-y-you're all so useless."

Again, silence. There's the Dr. Sanchez you knew and... well, loved would be a bit of a stretch. More like "barely knew and begrudgingly lusted over." He's probably trying to make a show of how intelligent he is and how uncritical and worthless his students are. Whatever.

"I don't think that matters," you say, your soft voice breaking the dreadful quiet before your professor's harsh, gravely one could.

Dr. Sanchez snaps his head to look at you. "Excuse me?" he asks, a spiteful grin on his face.

"I think authorial intent is, quite frankly, bullshit," you say, your eyes locked on his. It's not a radical claim. Most professors you knew believed it to some extent. Dr. Sanchez eyes you as he indiscreetly drinks from his flask. You continue, "Once a work is published and read by others, it's theirs. Author's can intend to write things all they want, but how those words are widely perceived by others and the effect they have on others are more important than any intent."

He licks his teeth, the pause before the strike.

Before he can contradict you, you continue your reasoning. Partially because you have anxiety about him misunderstanding your argument, but mostly because you just really want to argue with the obnoxiously self-obsessed man above you. You ramble and stutter, gesticulating more than you should and occasionally making eye contact with Dr. Sanchez but generally staring off into the distance to avoid it. It was a habit of yours that didn't bother most people. But you had interrupted Dr Sanchez and he was happy to do the same to you.

"H-hey. Look at me when you're talking to me. I don't bite, sweetie. Not that hard." He winks at you, but it'a barely noticeable.

It takes all the willpower you can muster not to get flustered. You want to invite him to bite you, to bruise you and make you his. But those weren't appropriate words for in-class discussion.

The corner of his lip lifts in a smirk. You blush and feel yourself getting wet as he continues to stare down at you with those condescending eyes. He had to know what he was doing to you. Or was that simply wishful thinking on your part? Regardless, you resume your explanation, trying to maintain eye contact and speak coherently.

Dr. Sanchez raises half of his unibrow once you'd finished. You know he can't critique you for your stuttered, unorganized way of talking, because he does the same thing. Still, you wait for him to say something disparaging about your argument.

"The explanation your classmate gave is," he pauses to hungrily look you up and down, "surprisingly sufficient."  
His reply is terse, and you can hear the anger in his concession. You have to keep yourself from blushing over the praise. If you're being honest, praise from professors defines most of your self worth, but you didn't expect to get that satisfaction from Dr. Sanchez. You secretly hope he'll provide satisfaction to your licentiousness too.

"Although, some of the points you made sounded quite frankly like bullshit, it was, overall, okay."

There it is. The lash to balance out the compliment. Points for parallelism with your criticisms of him. Still, you don't imagine Dr. Sanchez compliments anyone unless they're bouncing up and down on his cock and it's something along the lines of _F-fuck baby y-you're so good at this. Y-you know you're a slut taking— riding your professor's cock like that..._

 

Shit. Don't think about that. Not here at least.

Dr. Sanchez continues to lecture about the poem and you can't help but admire his messy appearance. He makes such rough and over the top gestures while speaking passionately about poetry, but then gently and deliberately adjusts his glasses on his long nose. He looks so composed in those moments, like he could mercilessly ruin you with just a cold glare. He manages to hold roughness and vulgarity in tandem with calculating coldness and it drives you nuts. You imagine the long elegant fingers he uses to grip the marker instead gripping your throat, his gravelly voice growling in your ear about how shameful it is for a pretty young thing to crave him so carnally.

Dr. Sanchez interrupts your fantasies to dismiss the class, and you begin packing your things as you get up. He clears his throat and you turn around to look up at him with a raised eyebrow. His eyes bore into you and he points at the desk in front of him expectantly.

You wordlessly comply, sitting on the desk instead of in it. You assume a nonchalant, bored posture and look up at him. You don't want him to know you're both scared of and attracted to him.

He takes a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose and furrowing his unibrow. "Y-you know, you seem like an okay kid. At least, not as hopeless as the rest of them." You give him a quizzical look, distrustful of his words yet intoxicated by the praise at the same time.

  
"But for fucks sake don't— don't fucking derail my lessons like this."

You let out a frustrated laugh. "How is answering your questions 'derailing?' Isn't that what you want, Dr. Sanchez?" You pause, watching him tap his fingers on the podium next to him. "Are you, maybe, intimidated?"

  
You can't hold in your self-satisfied smirk. He sees you as a threat to order in his classroom. You, the opposition to his hegemonic control over all the young impressionable minds in his class. You haven't even done much besides a bit of sass and disagreeing with him academically. But that was enough.

Dr. Sanchez languidly walks over to the desk you're sitting at and bends over you. His hands are splayed out on the desk so his fingers graze your thighs, his arms caging you in so you can't move.

"I-intimidated? Excuse you, sweetheart. Y-y-you think _I'm_ intimidated by a little— a f-fucking undergrad bitch?"

You can't help but redden, involuntarily licking your lips. He smells just as good as he did the other day, with the added scent of cigarettes. He waits for a response, and although you don't have the courage to look up at the face mere inches from yours, you know he's glaring down at you with ferocious intensity. Your eyes focus instead on his pale blue tie dangling in front of you, its fabric touching your shirt.

The two of you remain like that in silence, statuesque and full of sexual tension. You feel his lips graze your cheek as he moves his head to your ear and growls, " _Behave_." At that, he rises to his full height and grabs his bag to leave. You do the same. As you walk out, he places his hand on the small of your back in an uncharacteristically gentle way to guide you towards the door. He brings his voice down to almost a whisper to chide you.

"I-I swear if you do that— pull that cheeky shit again, I'm gonna do worse than tell you off."

You scoff at him and walk away, angry and turned on and trying to save face. If he wants you to behave, you're going to make damn sure you make his life a living hell.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things begin to get REAL TOASTY!!! some nice facefucking ensues

The next few weeks are hellish. You're always pissed off at Dr. Sanchez, and he seems to return the disdain. Part of you still longs for his approval. And a bigger part of you just wants to take him up on his offer of "doing something worse than telling you off" if you misbehave.

So you continue to disagree with him. Class turns into a bit of lecturing and a lot of arguing between you two. Occasionally, another voice will chime in, which Dr. Sanchez shuts down quickly if you don't beat him to it. This is between you and him. Maybe he's making you into as big of an asshole as him, but you don't give a shit. You just want the satisfaction of winning, the thrill of those exhilarating moments when Dr. Sanchez almost concedes to you, or otherwise stands silently as his jaw clenches and unclenches while he thinks of a way to discredit your argument. You had resolved to be a thorn in his side for as long as he treated you like one, and you were certainly making good on your offer.

Despite the incessant power play, you notice lapses in his composure. He loses ground, if only just a little, when you dress and act more provocatively. You want to rile Dr. Sanchez up if you can, so you come to class in bralettes and shorts or skirts. Some days you wear thigh highs, conveniently forgetting to pull down your skirt so you can show them off. A flourish as you kick your leg up to cross it over the other one, flashing the lacy tops of your thigh highs. He looks visibly pained when he catches teasing glimpses of your body. As usual, nothing escapes his notice. You see him staring almost too long at your nipples when you're speaking to him. Your own eyes glance down at his pants and sometimes catch a glimpse of an impressive sized bulge. What's more impressive is how he walks around in front of his classroom unashamed of it.

It's his arousal your eyes are drawn to when Dr. Sanchez calls your name. You look up suddenly at his smug face. "Why don't you read the next few lines?" he says while barely holding back a smirk. Not having paid attention, you shamefully ask him to remind you which part of the poem you're supposed to read. He saunters over to you with half of his eyebrow cocked and presses a long finger aggressively onto the page. You lick your lips and clear your throat to timidly read: “Your body easy and all tempting lay / Inspiring wishes which the eyes betray." You blush and pause, trying not to look up at the man towering above you. You're sure he is looking down at you with satisfaction. You finally realize he did in fact know your "wishes which the eyes betray." You were hoping he hadn't guessed your attraction to him, but it's clear he has. Fuck.

He licks his lips and grins as you finish reading the stanza. "That sounded so nice." He's drawing out his words, making them sound sweet and sugary to hide the malice underneath. "W-why don't you read it again? And everyone pay attention— listen real well to those sounds. Poetry is just sounds."

You shoot him a glare that you know you'd have to pay for later if the eye-rolling incident from day one was any indicator.

You re-read the verse, your voice definitely more shaky and—you hate to admit it— more aroused than before. You refuse to look at Dr. Sanchez but know he must be full of perverse glee at this moment.

"Lovely, thank you. Who wants to make something out of that?"

Silence. Classes tend to be quiet and intimidated in group discussions, but Dr. Sanchez's ever so darling personality did nothing to help. You stare as Dr. Sanchez's beautiful fingers tap on the podium in front of him.

After glaring intimidatingly at the class for an uncomfortably long time, he gestures for everyone to go.

"You assholes better pay more attention. And, for Christ's sake, w-w-when I ask a question, _answer it_."

The last bit is almost growled out, which scares several of the students into walking faster out of the classroom. It only makes you want him more.

You remain seated, still recovering from Dr. Sanchez's flirtations. He did this in front of the whole class, who, for their part, probably didn't make anything of it. Still, it was so risky and bold and exactly what one would expect from the vulgar old man.

You realize Dr. Sanchez is staring down at you, adjusting his glasses and licking his lips. "W-well? You sticking around to suck my cock or something?"  
Your jaw drops. Is he serious? You keep looking down and ignore him. Even if he is serious, you don't want to give him the satisfaction. He bends over your desk and grabs your chin in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.  
"Don't let your mouth hang open like that, u-unless you want me to stuff it."

You furrow your brows and, against your better judgement, grab his wrist to pull his hand away. "If you wanna fuck me, maybe you should try not being an insufferable asshole." His eyes are wide, the shocked expression you were wearing now mirrored in his face. You smirk, satisfied, and walk towards the door. You're about to cross the threshold as Dr. Sanchez's fingers tighten around your wrist. You let out a gasp, with no time to react as he pushes you to the ground.

He yanks you up by your hair so you're on your knees and a moan escapes from your lips. His dark expression transforms into a more playful one. Hand still holding you by your hair, he brings his face inches from yours. The alcohol smell is stronger than usual. That explains the bold flirtations. "Y-you– you gonna play nice now, baby? You gonna listen to teacher?"

You're angry and aroused and you reply to him by spitting into his face. Any hint of playfulness vanishes as he slaps you hard with his free hand. You moan again. He pries your mouth open and spits in it. You swallow it, a lapse in your defiant act. "Y-you think you can disrespect me, slut? Like you do in class everyday, you little bitch?" In seconds, he's undone his pants and holds his intimidatingly large dick inches from your face. "You're gonna learn how to behave. Finally l-learn your fucking place." He rubs his cock on your cheek, getting pre-cum on your face. It takes all you have not to pant and whine in desperation for him. But you want to make him work for it.

"I didn't mean to destroy your fragile ego by doing what's expected of me as a student, Dr. Sanchez." The venom in your voice peaks when you say his name. "Would you like it better if I sat silent like everyone else in class? Worshipped and feared you?"

He grits his teeth and slaps you hard across the face. "Y-you fucking– you goddamn _cunt_." He spits the word out with disdain. He'd never admit it, but your insistent disobedience both flusters and delights him. He squeezes your cheeks together and jerks your face towards his. "Y-you're gonna need a hard lesson for all the– the shit you give me." He releases your cheeks and positions his cock between your lips, pressing into you slowly. Even at the slow pace, you're struggling to take it all in. You gag and feel yourself get wetter, excited and fearful at how much he's going to push your limits. 

Dr. Sanchez chuckles above you, pushing up his glasses. "Oh you're delicate aren't you, choking on my dick already." Despite this observation, he remains merciless as ever. He starts facefucking you roughly.

"If you're gonna– if you insist on being such a brat, I-I'll treat you like one."

You look up at him, desperate for air. He shoves you down to the base of his cock, making your eyes water as you gag on the length. He holds you there for a second, grinning, then releases you after a few moans and mumbled praise. You pant and lick his cock, hoping to get a break for air before he shoves you back down onto it. Anytime you pull your mouth off of him, a thick trail of your saliva keeps the two of you connected.

While you're licking his dick, he licks his fingers, and you grow hopeful that he will stop using your mouth and put those graceful and probably talented fingers inside your aching pussy. Teasingly, he sticks them in your mouth and you moan and suck around them. "You think I-I didn't notice? The way you– all that staring at my hands? I know you like them, baby. Y-you don't even know half the shit I wanna do to you with these hands." He slides his fingers out of your mouth, hooking them on your teeth to pull your jaw down and preparing to reinsert his cock.

"Y-y-you're a good little fucktoy, aren't you?"

You look up at him indignantly, but your usual defiance is not as effective when your face is a mess from choking on his huge cock. "Are you done yet, Dr. Sanchez? Because I'm pretty sure other classes take place in this classroom."

Dr. Sanchez smirks. "Still being coy, I see. We'll finish this up." You gasp as he grabs your head again and starts thrusting into your mouth. It feels so good to be used by him. You'll never tell him that unless he makes you really desperate, but you love how vulgar and gross he is. And he knows it.

"Bet you think about this at night. That's w-why you come in with those skimpy outfits. Trying to get me to notice you–" He grunts and thrusts harder. "I mean, it worked but— _ffffucking christ_ — I noticed you the moment you backtalked me. I wanted to do this to you right then, show you your fucking place." You're practically dripping after his confession. You felt the same way, but it felt good to hear it in his gravelly voice. "A-and now I'm gonna— _dear god,_ " He pulls out and strokes his cock in front of your face, running his other hand through his wild blue hair. "I'm gonna have so much fun defiling and debasing you, you damned insolent slut." He grunts and finally cums all over your face and open mouth. You let him gaze with satisfaction at his handiwork before licking the remaining cum off of his cock and cleaning up as much of your face as you can with your tongue.

He squats so that he's around your height, his gangly angular limbs situated awkwardly below him. He wipes the rest of the cum off onto his shirt, an oddly considerate gesture. He slips a hand down into your panties and you moan. He's taken his pleasure, but now you're getting payback for all the facefucking you endured. His fingers rub at your clit and teasingly trace your entrance before pulling away. You whimper at the loss of sensation. He shoves his hand in your face, scissoring his fingers to show the sticky trails of your own wetness. You blush in embarrassment and arousal as he slowly licks them clean. "N-now if you keep misbehaving I might have to really fuck you next time. Class dismissed." You pout at him then get ready to go out the door, before he stops you again. He grabs your ass hard and whispers behind you, "And don't you _dare_ wear underwear if you're going to flash me with those thigh highs next class period."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so next time i'm hoping for full on penetrative sex. we'll see what the rick in my brain wants though. i'm on sumemr break so hopefully i'll be able to write more!


End file.
